


The Early Bird and the Night Owl

by everhutcher



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cute, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7619410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everhutcher/pseuds/everhutcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss has never been one to chicken out of a confrontation, and as far as she's concerned the new neighbor is a dead duck. But she may find they're birds of a feather, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Early Bird and the Night Owl

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first drabble, which I wrote nearly a year ago. Enjoy!

_That. Is. It._

I’m desperate for sleep. Throwing off the comforter, my mind is racing with all the insults I plan to hurl at the Disturber of Sleep, as I’ve now named her. My bare feet slap against the hardwoods as I shuffle as quickly as I can toward the door. I race out the door, down the carpeted hallway, and up the mahogany staircase to the floor above. 

I’ve lived in this house for three years now, since my sister went off to college. Moving into this older house meant cheaper rent, and more money in my pocket to pay off Prim’s expenses at Panem University. The house is nice enough, though, and the owner – a woman named Effie – has taken in several single women to fill the extra rooms and pay off some bills of her own. If her wardrobe and wigs are any indication, she’s probably amassed some huge credit card debt.

The arrangement has been great up until now. I have my own unit within the house, cozy and quiet. At least until a month ago. Effie rented out the unit above me, and my new neighbor has become my least favorite person in the world, even though I haven’t met her yet.

Three in the morning. That’s the time that she apparently settles in for the night. I know because there’s silence for hours afterwards, as she sleeps off whatever activities had her up until all hours. But not before she takes a long shower, with the ancient pipes that run between our units groaning and creaking the whole time. Enough to wake me every night for the past four weeks.

As I reach the next floor I see there is only one door on the side of the hall above my unit. I know who my opponent is, and it’s time to do battle. My sleep deprivation only fuels my annoyance. I pound on the door furiously.

On the other side, I can hear footsteps rushing to the door and muffled sounds. Amazing how her door seems to be more soundproofed than my ceiling, I think to myself, as I huff aloud in my irritation. I hear the rattle of the security chain and the click of the lock being turned.

Now is my chance. As the door opens, I take a deep breath, ready to vent my frustrations at the person who has been ruining my sleep for weeks. The breath catches in my throat and I suddenly forget all that I planned to say.

The new neighbor is not a woman. Far from it. I find myself staring, dumfounded, at an equally puzzled, ridiculously attractive man about my age. A toothbrush is lodged between his teeth and his left cheek– now I know why I couldn’t understand the muffled words from the other side of the door – and his eyes are wide.

God in Heaven, those eyes.

I’ve never seen anything so blue in my life. They almost sparkle. Long, long, long blond lashes that seem to tangle. Beautiful.

My own eyes travel down the length of his body, from the thick, wavy blond locks, the blondish-red stubble emphasizing a ridiculously strong jaw that I think could cut glass. Medium height, broad-shoulders, sculpted arms. Bare chest covered by a whisper of faint blond hair that trails off as it descends below a ripple of abs and lower…

The Disturber of Sleep is wearing only a bath towel, slung low across his slim hips. I gulp audibly, then wince at my own reaction.

“Can I help you?” The voice is gentle, though muffled by the toothbrush still planted firmly in his cheek.

I shake the cobwebs from my head and say what I came here to say. “You woke me up with your shower. Again.” The man’s face blanches. “Listen, I know Effie gave me a break on the rent because the pipes in this house all run through my bedroom wall… but why do you have to take a shower at 3 am? Can’t you just pass out after a night out like most normal people, and shower in the morning?”

“Oh, shit,” the blonde god says, opening the door wider. “Please, give me a second?” He gestures to the toothbrush. “Come on in.” I hover in the doorway, not exactly keen to enter a stranger’s apartment in the middle of the night, and watch him scurry to the kitchen, where I hear the tap run for a second. He comes out of the kitchen without the toothbrush, wiping his mouth with a paper towel. Crumpling it in his left hand, he extends his right one to me.

“Peeta. Your noisy neighbor.”

The adrenaline of my anger has fizzled considerably by now, and I sigh, taking the offered hand. “Katniss. Katniss Everdeen.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” I grumble. Peeta’s face flushes pink and I soften my tone as I realize he seems to genuinely feel bad. “Sorry to snap at you. I just haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. I’ve actually slept on my friend Madge’s couch a couple of nights.”

Peeta rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “I’m so sorry! I had no idea. I’m not out partying, you know. For the record. Far from it. I don’t exactly have much of a social life.”

“Then what? Xbox Live or something? Too much _Call of Duty_?”

Peeta’s eyebrows arch upwards. “You know _Call of Duty?_ ” He shakes his head and chuckles. “Okay, my social life is not _that_ far gone that I stay up to play video games all night. Not that I don’t enjoy them regularly. But actually, I have to be at work by 4 most mornings.” He shrugs. “Baker’s hours.”

“You’re a baker?”

“I’m a painter, really. I mean, my dad is the baker. I just help out. My family owns the bakery near town square, over on 12th. Mellark’s. Do you know it?”

Know it? As a child, my dad would occasionally bring Prim and me a cookie or a cheese bun from the famous patisserie. Much too pricey for our limited budget, sometimes we’d walk by the windows and stare for a while at the elaborate, delicate cakes and pastries. I nod. “Yeah, I know it.”

A lull in the conversation follows. Peeta watches me carefully, as if I’m a small bird and by misspeaking, I might fly away. I think of something else to say to break the discomfort I’m feeling under that calm blue gaze. “That stinks that you have to get up so early. On the bright side, you must be done with work pretty early too.”

Peeta shrugs. “Well not so much. Small family business. I know, I know – people think we’re rolling in money. But dad and mom have a mortgage to pay on the building and overhead. A business is expensive to keep going. So my parents don’t hire extra help unless they absolutely need to do so. I stay until we close most days. About seven. Sometimes I can sneak out earlier; sometimes I have to help even later.”

“That’s rough,” I say, thinking of my own long hours waiting tables at Sae’s, a local greasy spoon. The elderly woman has become like a mother to me, and I can never quite leave after my shift is done when I see how she struggles to keep the place going. I definitely understand where Peeta is coming from.

Peeta sighs. “Yeah, it’s everything I can do not to just collapse in bed when I get home. Luckily, there’s a real music lover in this old building. The bass alone keeps me up until midnight sometimes.”

I feels my face burn with embarrassment and I echo Peeta’s earlier words. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“That’s my bass you keep hearing.”

“You’re the one keeping me up?”

“…while you’re the one waking me early.”

I dip my head down and bite my lip to keep from smiling at this awkward realization. Peeta’s had as much reason to be irritated with me as I have with him. I hear a chuckle and look up to see Peeta smiling at me. His smile is slightly crooked, his eyes sparkle with mirth, and as he runs a hand through his wavy hair, my chest clenches slightly.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he says. “Usually I just end up painting, listening to your music choices.” He grins. “Although more often than not I even forget to eat dinner,” he admits.

“I make dinner.” My hand flies up to my lips as the words tumble out.

“What?” Peeta blinks once, twice.

My resolve firms even as my cheeks flush. “I mean, I could make you dinner.”

“Make me dinner?” More blinks.

“Well…” I stammer out, “I cook entirely too much for just myself and I get sick of freezing and reheating leftovers. I could drop something off for you, if you’d like. Leave it by the door so you could have it when you get home…?”

Peeta’s smile falters for a second and I wonder if he thinks I’m a weirdo. “Thank you, Katniss. I could pay you…?“

“Cheese buns.”

Peeta chuckles. “What?”

“You could pay me with cheese buns. I loved Mellark’s cheese buns when I was a kid, but I didn’t get to indulge in them too often. Consider it a trade.” This time, I’m the one who holds out my right hand. “Deal?”

Peeta’s eye twinkle as he regards my outstretched hand. “One condition.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave it at my door. Come in, and eat it with me.”

My mouth hangs open slightly. Peeta’s asking me to have dinner with him? In his apartment? I barely know him. 

Then again, the realization hits me that I just offered to cook dinner for him. A virtual stranger. A very attractive virtual stranger, who is standing confidently in nothing but a towel in front of me, and is now asking me to join him for dinner.

“Oh- okay,” I stutter out. My cheeks feel warm, my earlier burst of bravado gone as Peeta takes my hand and a current runs up my arm at his warm, strong grasp.

“Then, we have a deal.” We smile faintly at one another for a moment, not saying anything, but this time the silence is comfortable. Suddenly Peeta looks back over his shoulder to his left, where there’s a clock on the wall. “Shit, I really have to get moving if I’m going to make it to the bakery on time. I have to start the ovens pretty early.” 

I back out into the hallway. “It’s all right. It’s about time I get some sleep anyway.”

Peeta blushes. “Yeah, sorry again about that.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry about keeping you up.” And I actually mean it.

“I really have to go,” Peeta repeats. Is he trying to convince me, or himself, I wonder?

“It’s okay,” I say again. But this time, I realize, I don’t mean it. I want to stay and keep talking with the baker’s boy. “I’ll see you… around 7:30?” Peeta nods enthusiastically.

“It’s a date.” My cheeks flare with heat again at his words, but I smile widely and get to see that crooked smile again in return. Peeta is slowly closing the door but our gazes continue to be locked on one another until the very last second. 

“Goodnight, Katniss.”

“Good morning, Peeta.”


End file.
